


Humid Dunes

by ozirj



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Drinking, Drug Use, First Time, Freddy is a runaway skater boy from Long Beach CA, M/M, Teen Freddy, They meet in the Mojave dessert, White is still a thief that lives in Cali
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-03-17 19:05:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3540614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozirj/pseuds/ozirj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seems nothing works the way it needs to for White.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Desert Inn

**Author's Note:**

> This is supposed to be set in the mid to late 70's but that's never explicitly stated. I started working on this as stress relief and also slightly due to the fact that I'll probably never finish the first fic I posted on here for White and Orange. The last chapter for this will be up before the end of the week. (Edit: That last sentence was a total lie. I'm sorry, school has been holding me back from really making this fic what I wanted it to be. )

White skips town as quick as he can, being set up with an unofficial partner ended up just as horribly as he suspected. He needed an extra pair of hands, but learning the hard way has been a routine he’s gotten into recently. He’s been driving for about forty-five minutes now. Right when he left the scene of his late partner (he wasn’t even able to go back to L.A. for his moneys worth) he sped back to his apartment for some extra cash he had laying around with the goal of reaching Mojave right before sunrise. He left an emergency bag in his trunk a few days before, full of shit to last him a couple nights outside of town so he wouldn’t have to worry about packing anything if his heist did end up fucking over. He’s a lucky bastard he planned for the worst, because that’s just what happened and the desert’s pleasant warmth currently awaits him. 

Hawthorne was already hot as fuck before he left, even so late into the night, at 2 AM the temperatures were still in the mid eighties. He wasn’t expecting anything under 90 when he got to Mojave. White didn’t have any idea where he would end up for the night at this point. Most likely at a shotty motel, in a pint-size room on a piece of shit bed. Better than sitting backseat with heavy cuffs digging into his wrists, staring blankly at the back of some blue-suited asshole through a wired-glass separator. He’d take a mattress that reeks of cigarettes in a warm room over a cot bed on a slate of concrete with only two inches of comfort in it’s name any night. 

As he continues up north his mind is racing, he’s still high off of adrenaline and he wishes he had a blunt on him somewhere. There’s a few cigs left in his pack he bought in the morning but those will only last him through the night most likely. Maybe he’ll stop by a convenience store on the way to wherever he’s headed. When he gets off the highway he’s been following for about an hour he reaches an interchange that leads him into the most desolate town he’s seen for a while. It seems that turn was his last exit for the night so reaches over from the steering wheel and clicks on some music. White is finally at peace with the idea that he’s far enough from L.A. he can possible be in the time span that he currently had to waste. The first thing that he comes across on the radio is some late night Blues, it’s enough to calm his nerves so he let’s it beat through his car speakers on a low thrum. He’s incoherent as he hums to songs he’s never heard before until tonight. He can only pray now that there is a liquor store or gas station somewhere around before he sets up for the night. 

He gets past the desolate town back onto some freeway, flat planes of sand to either side of him. There isn’t a single car in sight and that relaxes him even more. The moon is huge and yellow, peaking over the mountains that seem to be feet away but in reality, are miles past where he’s headed. He doesn’t know how much longer he’s been driving when he actually sees a tall motel sign far off into the distance, it’s flickering and dim but it’s the best thing he’s seen all night. He decided he’ll stop at the motel first, check in, then ask for the closest 24/7 store there is around here. If he can’t get some cigarettes he’ll at least get himself some kind of liquor, whiskey preferably. As he pulls into the motel’s wide open and empty parking lot he realizes he’s the only motherfucker in this joint tonight. There’s pro’s and con’s to this, he’ll get a quiet night’s sleep but this means this place has got to be an absolute shit hole. He parks his car closest to the motel’s main office then flips off the engine and his music silences abruptly, the remnants of slow Blue’s lingering in the back of his mind when he hops out of the car. His pockets are full of fresh fifties right now so he walks around his car to the trunk. Once it’s unlocked he ruffles through the bag he brought and calmly counts his money, takes two-hundred with him then bundles the rest of it up to stuff it into a deep corner of his bag. He make’s sure to grab a folded jacket from his bag before he closes the trunk again. 

White throws the jacket on and cautiously steps into the main office of the motel. He takes in his surroundings as quick as he can and when he enters the door the bell above it swings lightly, chiming his arrival. No one stands behind the counter of the office but he hears a low, “Hold on-” from behind a door that leads deeper into the room, past the counter he leans against currently. White only waits for a few moments before an older woman quietly steps out from the closed door, she shuts it behind herself slowly. She is at least two feet shorter than White and has a big head of hair, damaged from what seems to be constant amounts of cheap, red, hair dye.  
“How many nights?” 

“Just one for now, one bed.” 

“M’kay, if you want to add on another day just come back before 3:30 AM tomorrow, please.” 

White chuckles, he can tell he interrupted her rest one way or another, at least he’s getting some service here though, “Of course ma’am.” 

She pulls out a small note pad and writes down something White can’t make out. Then she leans over to the bulky desktop at the corner of the counter to begin to log in his information. 

“It will be seventeen bucks for tonight hun, nineteen for some laundry coins. Your name?” 

“Seventeen is fine, thank you. “, White hesitates, doesn’t remember if he brought his fake ID or not and he clenches his teeth when the image of his second wallet laying on his couch flashes right before his eyes. He’s a stupid fucking idiot, he sighs and bites the inside of his cheek, “Larry-- Lawrence Dimmick.” 

“Alright Lawrence, let me see your ID and cash and you’ll be set for the night, sugar.” 

‘You fucking dumb piece of anxiety ridden shit, can’t even play your cards right’, he hissed under his breath and argues with himself as he pulls out a straight fifty and his wallet out of his front pocket. He lays down the fifty on the counter first and slides his ID over, prays he can trust this poor old lady. When she is done looking over his information, she sets the ID back in front of him and gives him the change for his fifty. 

White grabs everything hastily and doesn’t even put anything back into his wallet, just shoves it all into his back pocket and takes the room key from the woman. 

“By any chance, do you know of the closest store I can get some smokes at?” 

“Mhm, there’s one down the street from here. If you pull out the parking lot and take a right up on the intersection, you can keep down that road and there should be a small little shop open.”

White nods his head and turns for the door, he mutters a short and quick, “Goodnight, thank you,” before letting the door close behind him. The last thing he hears is the older woman humming a ‘Goodbye’ and the bell above the door chiming his exit. He takes long strides to his car and makes sure to hop back in as quickly as possible. He follows the ladies directions and ends up at the small convenience store in no time.

He sits in his car for a moment at a parking space not far off from the store’s entrance. One other person, besides the cashier, paces the aisles inside. White would rather assess the situation before entering anything he can't handle. He can’t gauge why someone else in this dead town would be lingering around at four in the morning. The person inside is just a kid, dressed up brightly and baby-faced. White sucks it up and takes the keys from the ignition. Once he steps out from the drivers seat he straightens up his jacket, runs a hand through his hair and hopes for this night to end soon. 

“Grab some smokes, get some snacks, buy some booze. You’re all good-,” White is mumbling to himself as he walks across the desolate parking lot. When he pulls the double door of the convenience store open, there’s no chime of a bell, just a glance from the exhausted cashier. He can hear the boy a few aisles down rustling through produce. White minds his own business, doesn’t look up at him and sets his route to the freezers on the back wall. He passes the aisle the kid stands in, senses the boy’s cautious yet obvious side-eyeing. He just wants to check out the beer, if nothing peaks his interest he guesses he’ll drop cash on some ‘alright’ whiskey. Of course, the beer here is shit, he was thinking of some Tecate but all they’ve got stocked is Whitbread Trophy and other shitty off-brands. When he looks back up from the frosted freezer doors, he glances over to the cashier, see’s that the kid is now hassling him for some change for a dollar. 

White can only make out, “I just gotta make a call on your payphone man.” 

“You gotta buy something first kid, I can’t just open the cash register on command.” 

“Fuck, okay, alright-- What’s the cheapest thing you got in here?” 

“A pack of gum.”, the kid looks around under the cashier’s counter and picks up the cheapest pack of gum he sees and tosses it at the man in front of him.  
White sighs and steps down a couple aisles to stand behind the kid in line. He just wants the whiskey on the top shelf behind the cashier and a pack of fresh Marlboro’s. The kid pays for his pack of gum and gets his quarters back. He’s all decked out in typical skater boy shit; frayed, dark denim shorts, with a navy blue windbreaker tied around his waist, a short sleeved, red and green Hawaiian button-down, under that seems to be a baby blue, tight fitting tank top with grey rimming. White catches himself paying close attention to way too many details on this boy, the kid’s probably half his fucking age for God’s sake. 

Before White knows it, the kids speaking to him, “Sorry for the hold up man.” With that being said, the boy grips the quarters he’s got in his hand and slips the pack of gum into a pocket of his dangling windbreaker. 

“No worries.”, White shakes his head and steps up to the cashier, watches as the kid steps outside and can see him stand in front of the payphone that sits on the corner through the shop’s window.

The cashier snaps him out of his short distraction, “What can I get ya’ sir?” 

“Pack of Marlboro's and that Seagrams ‘62 you got on your top shelf.” 

The cashier doesn’t say another word, just grabs what he’s gotta grab and rings White up, “That’ll be $24.56.” 

The cashier doesn’t even card him, White sure as hell doesn’t expect to be carded again for the rest of his life at this point. He barely even used to get asked for identification when he was twenty-one. White pulls out the extra bills he has left over from his payment earlier tonight at the motel. He gives the cashier thirty and tells him to keep the change. The whiskey is given to him in its box, placed in a larger paper bag. He’s handed the smokes, which he stores into the bag. White carries the bag under his arm and doesn’t bid any farewells to the cashier. He just wants to get the fuck out of here, ride back to his room quickly and quietly then rest the soonest he possibly can. As he walks outside, he can hear the kid from inside getting a little heated over the phone. White tries his best not to pay attention until the kid slams the phone back down and collects the change he has left over from the call. 

White closes his eyes and stops in his tracks, he’s already halfway to his car and he can’t believe he’s about to show his concerns for this kids safety. The boy must be into some shit if he’s by himself all the way out here. 

White turns on his heel and calls out to the kid that’s now resting his arms against the top of the payphone, his head hanging low and it seems like he’s trying to collect himself, “Everything alright?” 

The kid realizes he’s being spoken to and he turns slightly to the echoing voice. His words jam at the back of his throat and he has no idea if he should pose any questions related to him getting some sort of help. He’s stuck real bad though, broke, in the middle of the desert and on the verge of breaking down. 

He swallows down any of his perturbation but all he ends up getting out is a low, “I don’t know.”


	2. The Cacti of 4:32 AM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is shorter, just wanted to get something done.

White’s a bit shell shocked at this answer and he just grips his bag a little more, he wonders if this kid is all good in the head. He takes a few steps forward, “Look, I ain’t got all night kid. What the hell are you doing out here?” White might be a thief but he’s not cold-hearted. He has brothers and sisters, nephews and nieces, knows a few of his friends kids pretty closely. And last time he checked, he was almost in the same position this boy was when he was his age. Lost, confused, with no where to go. Pretty helpless honestly and White knows that feels like absolute shit. This is the last thing he wants to be doing tonight but he has to, he doesn’t know how he would live with himself if he had that tiny voice in the back of his head that was always wondering if that stupid kid ended up safe and alright. 

The kid still hasn’t replied and it seems like he’s having a hard time figuring out to communicate what he needs to. White plays it a bit slower now, he walks closer and he glances at the cashier inside again, see’s that he’s boredly watching them speak. 

“What’s your name?”, he’s only a few feet away from the kid now. 

The kid steps away from the payphone and White see’s his hands do a bit of a nervous dance as they hover by his hips. White clenches his jaw slightly, his senses heightened now, ‘Don’t do anything dumb, kid.’

The kid doesn’t do anything dumb, just lowers his hands to eases whatever high he's caught up on, “I’m sorry-- sorry, my name’s Freddy.” 

Jesus, this kid is awkward, “Freddy, hey, I’m La --White. You can call me White.” 

Freddy nods, doesn’t question the ridiculous name. He’s used to his buddies in Long Beach and their horrible nicknames. Made up during hot boxing sessions in the back of someone’s van after they had surfed all day. Everyone usually called him Mr. Fantastic anyways. Fuck his friends though, fuck ‘em straight to hell and all the shit they stuck him into. 

White looks over Freddy’s hiking backpack he has laying by the bottom of the phone booth. The backpack is thick and taught. Most likely filled to the brim with travelling gear . 

“Alright Freddy, can I help at all? You got a car? You need directions? You’re smack in the middle of fucking no where, you know that right?”, White is still standing far off from Freddy but he’s close enough not the have to yell at him. 

Freddy’s officially overwhelmed by this man. He saw him briefly inside the store but he doesn’t know whether or not he should take his chances with him, “You might be able to, I ain’t got no car sir, I’ve been hitchhiking.” 

Freddy left Long Beach four days ago. It was his graduation trip and his friends wanted to get all the way to Florida. Freddy only got as far as Nevada before his “friends” snatched up his weed, the big sum of money he had saved up and most of his luggage. He’s still in an emotional turmoil over the situation and has no idea why anything like that would happen to him. He should’ve known from the start that you ain’t supposed to get buddy-buddy with your customers. He has mostly been selling grass since tenth grade and even picked up a tad bit of coke to sell at the beginning of senior year, but bailed on that because it was too much to handle. It’s technically day five of his trashed trip now and he just wants to get home. His mom isn’t in town and there is honestly no one he can rely on to come pick him up at this time, especially so far out into the desert. 

White is tapping his foot now and guesses the time is somewhere around 4:15 AM by now. He’s about to give up wasting his time on this kid and Freddy notices his hesitation so he speaks up quickly, before he loses his solid chance at staying safe tonight. 

“I just need somewhere to stay. I haven’t slept for more than three hours in two days now and it’s really getting to me. I have enough money on me to stay somewhere decent, can you help me with that at all?” 

White sighs and nods his head, “Yeah, there’s a motel up the road. Called Desert Inn, seventeen bucks a night, nineteen if you want laundry tokens.” 

Freddy smiles from White’s lightened joke, “That sounds like the best thing I’ve heard all week. Is there any way you could give me a ride? I could spot you some cash, if not, I’ll walk.” 

White second guesses helping him out but he sucks it up and motions his head to his car, “Yeah that fine, forget the cash.”

He doesn’t say anything else and he turns to head for his car. He hears Freddy being the fastest he can while picking up his backpack and hanging up the pay phone. Freddy jogs behind him to catch up at his side while he pulls on the backpack over his shoulders, “Thanks so much sir, I really appreciate it. I would have been sleeping on a corner street if it weren’t for you--” 

“Save it kid, and stop calling me sir. I ain’t no old man.” 

Freddy doesn’t apologize but keeps quiet until they reach the car. White glances up at Freddy before he checks the lock on his door. He slips into the drivers seat and reached over to lift the lock on the passenger's side. Freddy slips off his backpack again and sets it in his lap when he opens up the door and sits down. 

“You can toss that in the back seat.”, White declares it as more of a statement than option. 

Freddy nods his head, he carefully picks his full backpack up and pushes it past his and White’s head. It grazes White’s face before it hits one of the back seats and he plays it cool, moves his head to the side. Freddy sits up straight and pulls his seatbelt on quickly. White’s just watching him amused, this kid has a kick in him. Everything he does is slightly jumpy and real animated. He hasn’t started the car yet, just waits for Freddy to situate himself. Freddy finally sits still and the look he gives when he realizes they aren’t moving yet is honest shock, as if he has just blanked out for the past couple minutes. 

White laughs and shakes his head, still astonished at all the shit he wrapped himself into tonight, “Ya’ ready?” 

“Yeah, yeah…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr is ozirj


	3. Take To The Sky On A Natural High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took so long and i deeply apologize, it's nothing even impressive. i hope i can just get this done asap for everyone and even myself cause it's haunting me at this point and i have so many other ideas i want to be working on as well. once again, sorry for any major mistakes, i just wanted to get it published. 
> 
> songs in this chapter:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eab_beh07HU  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t0KzLo0-6Ro

It’s only a few minutes into driving before Freddy looks over to Larry and asks, “Can I switch on the radio?” 

Larry doesn’t bat an eye, just nods and Freddy quickly reached over to the radio to flip through some stations and ended up settling on “Good Vibrations” by The Beach Boys. He turns it down pretty low and taps at his knee to the beat. Larry is at peace with the low pump of music because before anything was playing, Freddy had been rapidly shaking his legs while playing with a loose string on his shorts. Larry didn’t have it in him to tell the kid to cut it the fuck out though. 

Larry reaches over to his brown bag he situated on top the emergency break between him and Freddy and pulls out his fresh pack of cigs. He tosses them into Freddy’s lap, “Open those for me, will ya’?.”

Freddy fumbles with the pack, he scratches at it with his dull nails to find a lifted edge of the wrapping. When his nail catches on a piece of plastic, he pulls off the tiny piece until the whole thing unravels. He crumples up the removed packaging into his fist. Freddy has no idea what to do with it so he just clenches it in his fist and hands over the pack to White again. 

Larry has one hand on the steering wheel as he leans forward to grab his lighter out of the right front pocket of his jeans. He picks the pack out of Freddy’s outstretched hand and watches from the corner of his eye as Freddy plays with the wrapping. Unfolding it, crumple, flattening it, crumple, folding it, crumple-

“So you mind sharing why you’re out here?”, Larry hopes the drowsiness that is currently overcoming him isn’t evident in his voice. As he talks, he tried to open up the pack with one hand. He hold the pack between his pinky and the rest of his fingers while he takes out a single cigarette. The lighter is put to use as he rests the smoke on his bottom lip. He sucks in twice right after he rests the light to the end of the smoke and switches the flame off. 

Freddy watches him light the cigarette. He’s fascinated and has always had this shitty stoner theory. About the way that someone lights up anything can reflect slightly on the way they act and react to situations. Larry’s tactic was quick, then relax when he finally took some drags. He might have been craving one for a while. He’s obviously a chain-smoker, the orange hue of his fingertips giving it away. 

“It’s a real long story. I guess I could give it to you in a nutshell? Unless you want me to keep you up all night, I’m real bad at telling stories man.” Freddy huffs. He looks up from Larry’s concentrated face and out the front window. He can see a motel sign down the road and knows that’s where they’ll be stopping. 

“Yeah, yeah sure.” Larry doesn’t care too much honestly, he guesses he’s just trying anything to keep himself awake. He thinks the kid’s voice will do it for now. He keeps his cig resting on his lip as he speaks, taking a drag here and there. 

“I got left behind,” Freddy pauses, realizes that sounded like a sob story more than anything “, I just graduated last month--” 

“From college?” 

“Oh- no, no,” Freddy chuckles, Larry lifts an eyebrow and smiles, watches his cheeks turn into a peachy hue, “as a senior, I just graduated from high school.” 

“Jesus, you’re young as hell. I can barely remember that last time I was in a classroom or listening to a teacher.” Larry hums and creeps closer to the motel. He veers into the parking lot and parks in front of the main office he was at just an hour before. Freddy perks up as the car’s engine quiets down and Larry grabs the keys from the ignition “, okay- pause, keep going in a second. We need to get you a room.” 

Freddy nods his head but Larry is already out of the car by the time he’s trying to reach back and grab his bag from the back seats. He takes the wrapper from his palm and stuffs it into a side pocket of his bag. The bag is flung around his shoulder as he get’s out.The driver’s door is slammed shut right when Freddy unlocks his own door. When Larry sees Freddy’s head pop up from the roof of the car he taps on the hood, “Shit, can you grab my bag in there.” 

Another nod from Freddy as he leans back down into the passenger’s seat. He snatches the heavy brown bag from the emergency brake and center console. He sees the top of the box’s label in the bag and laughs. Of course this guy drinks whiskey. He passes the bag over the roof to Larry when he leans back up from inside the car. Larry grabs it and secures it under his arm while he steps closer to the door of the office. He notices a sign that wasn’t there when he had entered or left as he checked in tonight. It read: “No one on early morning shift, please return by 12 P.M. to get service.” 

“Of fucking course, god damn it.” Larry had officially fucked himself over. Why the fuck did he offer to help this kid out? He didn’t want to be babysitting anymore tonight. 

Freddy closes the car door and has a second of shock when he hears White cussing, he thought he had done something wrong. When he see’s White trying to avoid any sort of eye contact he becomes even more concerned, “What’s up?” 

Larry shakes his head and tries to figure out what he’s going to do. He’s not going to drive him anywhere else tonight, he needs his own god damn rest. He just wants to lay low for a while for god’s sake, “ Look, this office won’t be open for ‘till noon and I know you need a room A.S.A.P. I just can’t drive you anywhere else tonight though kid, I’m sorry, it just ain’t gunna happen.” 

“Shit--”, Freddy’s anxiety starts to bubble up. He can feel it in his throat, all up and down his back and in the pit of his chest. He takes a shaky breath because he really doesn’t want to spend another sleepless night wondering how he’s going to get home, “Do you have a room here? I just- I don’t know what to do at this point.” Freddy almost says he’s sick of being alone but that would be too much to share with a stranger he only met thirty minutes ago. 

Larry is cautious with his answer. He’s uncertain on whether or not he should actually share the fact that he does have a room booked already, key and all. He’s not to happy with the idea of sharing a room with someone tonight. Someone he barely fucking knows and is practically half his age. Larry takes the cigarette from his mouth, flicks it to the ground. He doesn’t even stomp it out, just lets it roll away and watches the orange lit ash turn to a dark grey and white, “Yeah, I’ve got a roo-” 

Freddy cuts him off before he can finish, “Oh fuck, I’ll pay you man. I’ve got cash, and weed, a lot of weed. I can pay you in weed and cash. I don’t got any shitty stuff either, I promise, I’m begging you here.” 

Larry sucks in a breath at the offer of some bud and he stops himself from laughing. Freddy really is begging, his hands are clasped together and they shake back and forth close to his chest as he speaks. Like a prayer to be allowed into Larry’s room for the night. The air seems to get a little heavier, the thickness of the humid weather starts to finally get to Larry. Larry reaches up to his jacket and unzips it, undoes the top button of his shirt and leans up against the wall next to the office door, “You ain’t gotta pay me shit. Just, don’t cause me any trouble alright. I have had a very very long day and I can have a pissy attitude when I’m low on sleep.” 

Freddy’s eye light up and he starts to sway from side to side now, his hands still clasped and they move with each one of the words he let’s out, “Of course man, of course. I’m so grateful. I’ll get shit worked out by tomorrow evening, thank you so much.” 

Larry shakes his head and pushes off the wall, has the certain temptation to pull out another cigarette. His brown bag crinkles under his arm and the back of his mouth burns for a moment, craving for a drink. He doesn’t even know if he’ll get the time for one by now, “Alright, hush, we get it. C’mon, it’s hot as shit out here.” Larry starts to take off his jacket while he carries the bag in one hand and passes it to the other when he removes the jacket from his other arm. 

Freddy watches him walk and remove the extra layer of clothing, he follows. Once Larry has got the jacket off, Freddy speaks up, “Do you want me to hold that for you?”

Larry looks behind him and knits his brows, somewhat confused and slightly shocked over the proposition, “Uh, no, it’s good. Thanks though.” 

Right when they break eye-contact, Freddy scrunches up his entire face in embarrassment, shuts his eyes real tight and bites down on his tongue. Why the fuck did he ask that, why does he have to be so childish all the time. Larry turns back and pulls out his room key from his pocket, reads the number on the keychain tab and begins to walk towards the left corner of the C-shaped motel room’s. 

Freddy hovers behind Larry a few feet while he opens the room’s door.

“Y’know White, I can really share some of my stash with you. I’m kind of not really a dealer. I’m not worried about passing out freebies. It’s the most I can do right now.” Larry doesn’t reply, he just swings the door open and stands back with his hand on the hinges to keep it open for Freddy. 

Freddy walks by him backwards and almost knocks into a small cabinet by the door, he puts his hand on it when he taps it lightly right under his ass, “Shit sorry, do you even smoke weed? I must sound like a fucking-” 

“A dirty hippie? Don’t worry, you look like one a little bit too. And yeah, I smoke, don’t stress.” 

Freddy’s face flushes, he doesn’t think he looks like one. He looks down at his outfit. He has his skating shorts and his ex-girlfriends tank-top on, he doesn’t remember where he got the rest of the clothes. His shoes, button-up and jacket are all most likely things he planned to borrow long-term from some close and not so close friends. He’s more of a beach bum than anything. His hair is at a nice length right now too, a little bit shorter than what he would like, but not anything breaching “dirty hippie”. 

Larry see’s the wave of self-consciousness that flows over Freddy’s face for a millisecond, “Look, don’t worry kid it was a joke. You look fine. Even if you were dressed up in printed palazzo bottoms and a fucking dashiki, I ain’t no nark. You do whatever liberal, rebellion, new age shit you gotta do, alright? I could care less.”

Larry tosses Freddy his jacket and Freddy catches it clumsily. Larry doesn’t say anything about it, just nods in the direction of the bed. Freddy lips twist into a shy smirk, “Yeah, alright.” 

Larry catches the movement and he averts his eyes, he turns from the door and as he walks away, he tells Freddy, “Get comfortable. I’ll be back in a minute, still got shit in the car.” 

Freddy watches Larry walk back into the dark parking lot and he leaves the door open, notices the key still hangs from the lock. When he steps further into the room he looks around. There’s one king sized bed, a small TV tucked away into the corner on a long television stand. He places the jacket on the end of the bed. On the other end of the stand is a lamp, under it, brochures and pamphlets for god know’s what. The bed has one night stand, with one wall-lamp. He already knows there’s a bible in the nightstand drawer and probably some old menu’s for take-out around the area. Over the bed is a shitty painting of a lake and mountains, most likely a reprint from a stock ranging in the thousands. The blankets and pillows don’t look too stiff or dingy, they’re red and mustard yellow with a striped and dotted pattern. All the walls are a faded orange and the door to the bathroom looks beat up. In between the bed and the TV stand is a square table, pushed up against the wall with two seats. The room’s a tight fit but he’s happy to be in an enclosed space to sleep after the past few nights. 

When Larry reaches his car again, he unlocks his trunk and pulls out his travelling bag. Larry stuffs his whiskey bag into a side pocket of the bag. He swings it over his shoulder and pulls the trunk top down to lock. The bag weighs him down as he limps back to the motel room. 

Freddy sets down his backpack on one of the table’s chairs. He leans over the chair and unzips the biggest pocket of the backpack. Inside is a full drawstring bag, under it is his extra clothes, wallet, and his now useless car keys. He places the drawstring bag on top of the table and zips up the backpack. The stretched bag is a faded brown with a leather string. He steps over to the TV and switches it on, he turns down the volume knob and pays no attention to whatever channel is on while he loosens his bag on the table. The first thing he pulls out is a ziplock bag of weed. He carefully shakes out of the rest of materials in the bag out on to the table. A tiny cream, ceramic pipe; six very neat joints wrapped in seran wrap; a match book he picked up at a casino during the road trip; two crushed cigarettes; a baggie of shrooms; and two bright pink lighters (one half empty). 

Larry steps into the still wide open door and he catches the key in the lock, pulls it out and closes the door behind him with his heel. He looks up at Freddy’s back and sets his travel bag down by the bathroom door by the entrance. Freddy turns his head from his hunched position, “Hey.” 

Larry catches a look at the table on the other side of the room, “Jesus, kid.” 

“It’s not as much as I had back home, I only brought a handful for the trip.”

Larry shakes his head and Freddy turns back around to start unwrapping his joints. Larry glances at the TV that hums on it’s low volume. It’s switched on to NewsCenter 4 where the headline flashes: ‘Downtown Bank Robbery, Resulting in Two Deaths’. His breath catches in his throat and he quickly steps over to the TV to flip it off. 

“No television.” Larry doesn’t explain himself when Freddy turns around, his face wrapped into a few different levels of worry. Freddy just nods, he holds his arm out. Between his thumb and index finger is a joint being offered to Larry. Larry sits on the edge of the bed, smiles at Freddy and waves his hand at him, “Keep it for a second, I wanna settle in.” 

“M’kay.” 

“You wanna grab some ice for me? When you come back in can you grab the whiskey from the side of my bag too.”, Larry grins up at Freddy sweetly. Freddy catches on to his little act and he sighs, sets down the joints and hesitates on the idea of flipping of Larry jokingly. He doesn’t, he knows better. Freddy looks around the room, catches sight of the ice bucket behind the TV, he hadn’t spotted it when he first came into the room. He snatches it and heads for the door. When he steps out, the heavy, humid air hits him and he reminds himself to switch on the AC when he returns. 

Larry pretends he didn’t catch a look at Freddy’s legs while he made his way out, like it was a complete accident. He leans forward and starts to untie his shoes. He sets them together by the foot of the bed and he stands to look for some cups around the room. He first considers the drawer under the TV and when he doesn’t find anything but some dust he goes to the one next to it. This one has a tray with old tea packets, four paper cups, and a few napkins, ‘Wonderful service, I see.’

Larry pulls out the four cups and hopes these pathetic things will last through a few drinks. Gives him more of an excuse to get fuller cups and take them down in a quicker expanse of time. Right when he closes the drawer Freddy comes back into the room, he swings the door open quietly, the ice bucket in his arms, inside of it lies a can of 7-Up. 

“I need a chaser, whiskey is a killer man.” 

Larry chuckles and walks over to where he stands, helps him with the bucket. He sets it down by the lamp on the TV stand and takes out the can of soda. 

“Who said you were drinking?”

Freddy’s face goes loose, “Aw, come on man. Just some casual cups, yeah? I’m not gunna get wasted of anything.” He’s not even sure if he wants to drink at all, he knows he’s putting on an act. His self consciousness is getting to him so it’s not too far fetched that he has to prove himself to this older man. 

“Whiskeys not for getting wasted.” Larry stares at Freddy for a moment but isn’t exactly declining him the option to drink at this point. 

Freddy smiles, “I’m gunna light up all right? I ain’t waiting for you any longer.” He grabs his joint and half empty lighter from the table and goes to hop on the bed. He kicks off his loose, black Vans and they tumble to the floor, he has no socks on and Larry cringes for a second. 

“You forgot the whiskey.”

Freddy looks up nervously, “Shit, I’m sorry, hold on.” He begins to sit up and Larry motions him to lay back down. He walks himself over to his bag and pulls out the torn brown paper bag. He tosses it on top of his traveller bag when he grabs the box of whiskey. Freddy gnaws at his cheeks and he rests the joint between his lips while he watches the flame of his lighter spark up in his face with the pull of his thumb. The joint lights and takes a small drag, lays back on the headboard and indulges himself for a moment with a lung-full of smoke. He tries to reserve himself from the small cough itching to come out. He tries to play it off when it finally comes out but he pulls the joint away and hacks up into his hand after the first cough. Larry leans over the cups on the TV stand while he unboxes the whiskey. He smirks to himself at the sound of Freddy trying to be impressive, he isn’t too great at taking a clean hit either, so he doesn’t blame him. Larry picks out a few pieces of ice for the cups and they clink down to the bottom, he pours Freddy a finger of the gold liquor and gives himself four times that. 

“You gunna smoke now?” Freddy nods over to the rest of his merchandise on the table. 

“No, let me share your shit, I don’t have the energy or headspace to be smoking on my own. I just want a few hits. What is this?” 

Freddy raises his eyebrows in amusement, like he’s about to go off on a fucking tangent all about his strains and the good shit he’s got, “This isn’t anything special, some Chocolate Thai. It’ll make you feel real good, like wine, but not wine. Your gunna get cotton mouth and your eyes are gunna feel like the Sahara dessert though, just a heads up.” 

“Thanks for that information.” Larry hopes he didn’t sound sarcastic, it’s likely though, his tone seems to be off for every stranger he meets. Freddy pushes back his hair and holds the joint away from the bed, Larry picks up the cups and hands Freddy’s over to him. Freddy leans up slightly to meet Larry halfway. He takes the cup from him and looks into it, “What the hell is this man.” 

Larry chuckles, “Hey, take what you can get. Maybe if you finish that I’ll give you some more.” 

“Fuck’s sake-”, Freddy hands the joint to Larry who begins to walk to the other half of the bed, he tosses back what’s in the cup and immediately regrets it. It feels like someone poured spray paint straight from the can onto his tongue. It turns into fire down his throat and he just sits in his own anguish for a moment while Larry hold his head back and let’s out a deep laugh over the whole scene, “You dumbass, now you’re not getting shit.” Freddy has never been a drinker and he doesn’t plan on starting now. Maybe he’s still too young but nothing about hard liquor seems appealing to him, he’ll stick to the grass for now. He doesn’t need to drown his sorrows, just fog up the mess of thoughts he has. 

Freddy probably deserves it, he feels the drink begin to react in his temple and the deepest part of his belly. He lays back and tries not to show anymore emotion towards the whole situation than what he has already. Larry lays next to him, he holds the joint between his middle and ring finger with the hand that holds his drink. He sips from his cup and sets it back down on the nightstand. The joint in his hand smells intoxicating, like something warm and deceiving.The best ex-lover to the whiskey he’s drinking. Freddy watches in interest as Larry admires his rolling skills and the aroma that begins to fill the room. 

The strong bite of the whiskey still soaks itself into Freddy’s tongue so pulls himself up from the bed and takes his cup with him. The weed starts to coil a blissful feeling in the back of his skull and the entire expanse of his throat and chest. He hums as he grabs his 7-Up and glances back at Larry to catch him with his eye’s closed, smoke flowing out from his loose lips. Freddy watches for a second, enticed by the image in front of him. He stops the thought before it carries into anything else in his mind. He shakes his head over the ridiculous idea while he pulls the tab on the soda. He takes a sip and sets it back down. 

Larry pulls himself into consciousness from the haze, “Hey, this thing is going to go out kid if you don’t help me out.”

Freddy turns for the joint and leaves his cup behind knowing he’s most likely going to have to finish it off. He takes it from Larry’s outstretched arm and keeps it for himself for a couple minutes. Freddy takes another hit, this one is a little smoother and he holds back any of the temptation of a ghost cough. Larry lays back, works at his drink and preoccupies himself with the thought of sleep. 

Freddy exhales and takes a steps away from the smoke, joint between his fingers, “Can we listen to music, White?”

“Yeah sure, if you can summon that shit from the heavens.”

“I have a portable radio asshole.” 

Larry crosses his legs on the bed, he leans on one of his arms takes the dwindling joint from Freddy when he passes it back to him, “You packed for everything, huh?” 

“I mean, I was supposed to be gone for a whole month and a half. Only lasted so long though. I packed for a good part of that time, I didn’t over-pack, that’s for sure.” 

“Mm. You wanna vent about it?" 

For a split second, Freddy hears sarcasm in Larry's voice but he brushes it off. He starts to remove the orange portable radio from the second pocket of his backpack. 

"Not really," Freddy sets it on the table, next to the rest of his shit ", I found out I have phony friends, got my car stolen, a big wad of my cash and I most likely won't ever be able to trust most people from now on. Not to say I did to begin with I guess.”

Freddy shuts up now, he's sharing more than planned but it feels so good to talk like this to a stranger. He's been hurt so much for such a long time and the stress has to him but he’s reaching his breaking point. 

Larry stares at him with a deep level of apologetic sincerity but doesn’t feed Freddy with any other type of reply. He lays back down again, reaches the joint up to his mouth but it’s out already, he got distracted by the small chat. Freddy sees the issue and tosses him his lighter. Larry let’s it bounce on the bed next to him and picks it up to light the joint for it’s last few hits. He's slowly starting to float away from his body. He's having a hard time listening to Freddy and feels raw all over but completely understands everything he's saying. 

Freddy turns away from Larry and adjusts the antenna of the radio. He flips through the stations and he mainly gets static, some distant noises that are just far off sound waves. When he gets to a decent station he doesn't even look to see what it is, knows what song it is after a second or two and leaves it to play. 

"This okay?"

Bloodstone’s ‘Natural High’ flows through the radio’s speakers and Freddy leaves the volume to a comfortable level for regular conversation. 

"Sounds great." 

"Is it kicking in?", Freddy laughs. 

Larry nods and clears his throat after his last hit, he passes it back to Freddy. The joint barely exists at this point and Freddy finishes it off. Larry watches him until he finishes, "Yeah, I haven't gotten stoned in a while honestly. Maybe a few boosts here and there when I'm working but not much else." 

Freddy pinches out the roach and steps over to toss it into his forgotten cup. "Shit, I don't get anywhere close to the white stuff. I get everyone's into it and shit but, I just got that gut feeling it could never be good for you." 

"Ain't no drugs good for you, kid."

Freddy rolls his shoulders in agreement. His head spins slightly now, he’s been so fucked up in the head recently that this high is practically dreamy, all he craves is to disconnect as much as possible. He hums along to the chorus of ‘Natural High’ and heads for the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my main tumblr is still ozirj. i used to use gottliebh but no longer keep that account active, sorry to people who are looking for me there. feel free to message me about any questions on my work or if you just wanna discuss res dogs stuff in gen, i love chatting up new people!! 
> 
> A little more background on this chapter and Larry/Freddy's characters in this work: 
> 
> I just came back from a trip to Desert Hot Springs, California. I only live a couple hours away from the city but the culture change is so huge and in my opinion, (sorry to anyone reading this that might live there or think otherwise) that city is fucking depressing. The whole energy of the city really reminded me of the type of overall character I was trying to build for Freddy in this story. So in my mind, I've been set on the idea that Freddy lived most of his childhood (age 5-11) in a city very similar to the one I went through and somewhat more populated than the one he and Larry are in right now. Freddy's mother has relatives that owned land there just for the hell of it because it was cheap so they moved when Freddy's father left them. I guess I'll elaborate on Freddy's family as well while I'm at it. I wanted Freddy to basically be a child of a single parent because I feel like that was a canon vibe he gave off in the movie as well. He has always been unsure of himself but sort of self righteous at the same time, but only in certain situations where he doesn't really have the will power to not be sure of himself, if that makes any sense. Anyways, Freddy's mom is American from Southern California and his father is English (this is where he gets the twang in his voice, ignore the fact that it's because Tim Roth just had a really hard fucking time having and American accent in this movie.) His parents met in their senior years of college abroad and had Freddy a year and a half into their relationship, married a few months later, moved to South Cali together and split a year after that when Freddy's dad cheated on his mother with some bartender chick. Freddy's dad was an alcoholic and a regular at a local pub, making his relationship with the bartender not that much of a secret. Freddy's mom is shit out of luck when she get's custody of Freddy because she's only had a job as a waitress at a local diner and still has to pay off some bills for college on her own because her hyper-religious parents practically disowned her when they found out she was having a bastard child. They have to move from expensive South Cali to the desert area. Areas like Palm Springs were very popular during the 50's-60's so it would have been easy to find cheap housing being made for the huge shift in population but they were able to stay at the relatives home for some time before Freddy's mother could rent out her own apartment for the both of them. Freddy grows up being a lonely kid with a full-time working mother and father he only hears from once in those six years living out in the desert. Freddy starts experimenting with drugs the last year that they're in that city, his mom finds out and realizes how horrible of a place it is for her child to live in so she gets them out of there and they move back to South Cali. Freddy goes to school, pushes through it and gets himself into some more shit that has to do with drugs and what not. He goes through an existential crisis when he finds out he's probably not straight and suffers from depression because of that. This leads up to where the story sort of begins. 
> 
> Larry's background is pretty similar to what it is in canon. He probably lived most of his life out in the mid-west and got into shit there where his history as a criminal started. He moves to California when he turns 26 and starts getting into any jobs he can during this time. He barely passes high school, considers college but doesn't do it once his mom gets killed. I'll talk about his background some more in the next chapter because, in all honesty, I'm getting tired. Hopefully I can get to the last chapter soon, thank you for your patience.

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse any huge errors (but I don't there's anything cringe worthy) , I wrote this first chapter in two nights, each night from 11 PM to 1 AM. I greatly appreciate feedback, thank you.


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